


Sympathy for the Devil

by evenmyneck (stopmopingstarthoping)



Series: Regime [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Sex, Biting, Death Threats, Embedded Images, Gambling, Home Invasion, Knives, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex for Favors, Sex for Information, Threats of Violence, mafia-typical violent atmosphere, references to drug trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27153250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/evenmyneck
Summary: In Fodlan, three syndicates control the city's organized crime. Sylvain and Lorenz organize a temporary alliance.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Series: Regime [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982006
Kudos: 16





	Sympathy for the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> For the amazing Max, my partner in crime for so much Sylorenz goodness. <3 Happy birthday!!!

Hilda lounges back on the plush-saffron sofa she’s sitting on as the security guard pulls up the footage and explains the staff’s suspicions in quiet tones. Spiky silver heels click annoyedly as she sighs and gets up. 

She’s sipping something boozy and fruity, and the scent of it wafts over her as she leans forward and taps Lorenz on the shoulder. He’s lost in frowning at some emails on his phone, and startles when a glittery pink fingernail appears in his peripheral vision. 

“C’mon, mister workaholic, time to work your magic out on the floor.”

His head darts up. “I don’t...what are you talking about, Hilda?”

“Did you really not pay attention to _any_ of that? Ugh, come on.” She points a remote at the wall and clicks, rewinding and replaying footage. A familiar head of wavy red hair is laughing, playing blackjack, sitting at the tables and flirting with the dealers….Lorenz isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be seeing.

“All I see is Gautier being his usual, insufferable self. Why is that my problem tonight?”

Hilda straightens the lapels of his white suit jacket and pats her hand flat against his chest reassuringly. “Because, my dear, he’s also won three hundred _thousand_ dollars tonight. And there’s no reason he should be here in our territory to begin with.”

A Lion at the Golden Stag isn’t _unheard_ of, of course (Annette Dominic had had a secret gambling problem for quite a while, actually, before Molinaro had quietly and discreetly dealt with it; Lorenz smiles faintly remembering her sneaking in in one of her various disguises), but it’s rare, and noticeable. And in the corner of one of the frames Lorenz also recognizes Dorothea Arnault, of the Adrestian clan. 

Lorenz rewinds the footage himself and scrutinizes it. It does look irregular, and sloppily so. He looks over toward Claude, who’s three sheets to the wind and telling an animated story to Lysithea and Marianne while also managing to sit on one of the couches in the most ridiculous, sideways, impromptu way Lorenz has ever seen. 

“It’s Claude’s night off, and you know I don’t do the work around here. Your turn,” Hilda chirps.

Claude dangles his head backwards over the sofa and gives Lorenz a tipsy thumbs-up. “You got this.”

Lorenz smiles grimly.

“Seems like it will be somewhat of an impromptu summit between the three of us this evening, I suppose. Has Ms. Arnault engaged in any similarly suspicious activity?”

Hilda bumps a hip against a tall, ornate credenza. "”Other than flirting with Sylvain? No, I think she was just here to play and he waylaid her.” She pokes her straw languidly into the bottom of her drink. “Typical.”

“Indeed.” 

Brisk steps carry Lorenz from marble to carpet, as he makes his way toward the gaming floor.

The brightly lit casino is a contrast to the soothing glow of their private rooms, and Lorenz feels himself scowl a little as the white light assaults his eyes. As expected, Sylvain is bantering across the table with Dorothea, and Lorenz walks up to take a seat, nodding at the dealer.

“Lorenz.” Dorothea’s tone is dripping with precisely as much fondness as usual, which is to say: none. “I didn’t think you were a fan of baccarat.” 

He gives her his best smile. “It’s a game of complexity, why would I not be interested? And sometimes it is the company rather than the game that draws our attention, is it not?” He dares a glance at her while the dealer shuffles.

“Nice try, but I’m not here for that.” She’s dealt an ace, and frowns thoughtfully.

“Guess _you’re_ not a sufficient distraction, Lorenz. Not surprising.” Sylvain wastes no time cutting into the conversation. 

Lorenz closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. He snaps his eyes open.

“Gautier.” His tone is icy. “You’re pretty far from home, aren’t you?”

He just laughs, lazy and casual. “Hey, anything this far south of Sreng is just a vacation. You feeling possessive about the Stag tonight? I’m sure Lady Luck is willing to share.” Sylvain’s fingertips lightly caress Dorothea’s bare elbow, and she quietly but firmly moves it out of his reach.

That draws an annoyed glance at Lorenz from Sylvain.

“Look, Lorenz, I know this is a Deer casino, but we were kind of in the middle of a conversation here…”

The dealer wins, and Dorothea bids a sad goodbye to her chips.

“Gentlemen. I do believe it’s time for me to cash out this evening.” She leans forward, displaying the treacherous nature of the dark, filmy dress covering her curves, and steps back with an arctic smile, holding her purse languidly in front of her with both hands. “Do give my best to your respective...friends.”

She sways away, and both men are quiet for a moment before Sylvain waves off the dealer.

“Dammit, Lorenz. Way to be an absolute buzzkill.”

“Me? It seemed like the lady was quite done with you well before I got here.” At a sharp glance from Sylvain, Lorenz continues. “Or have you forgotten that we have access to the security feeds? Seems like your...routine is having its usual effect.” The sneer that accompanies the word “routine” is probably unnecessary, but it is irresistible, so it surfaces anyway.

“I was trying,” Sylvain seethes, irritation barely concealed, “to get information out of her on a shipment coming in. I know the day, I just need the place and time.”

“Hmmm,” Lorenz flips long violet hair over his shoulder, “it looked more like you were completely striking out, from here. You must be using one of those _imperceptible_ tactics. Or is it _ineffectual_?”

“Oh, and she was _completely_ impressed by _you_.” Sylvain snorts before tipping a cocktail back to empty the contents into his mouth. Lorenz looks a moment too long at the bob of Sylvain’s throat as he swallows. 

_Damnit._

Lorenz hastily pulls his gaze away. He should have realized Sylvain would have eagle eyes on any expression of interest. It's what he does.

Quick to pivot, Sylvain sidles close to Lorenz, getting near enough that Lorenz can feel the heat of him. Sylvain’s thumb swipes at his lower lip, wiping away the glossy remnants of his drink, while he looks Lorenz up and down. 

“Ah, I see.” There's a laugh, a tease in the tone, and Lorenz, damn his traitor of a body, feels his cheeks heat.

“You see what?” His back straightens and he tries to brazen it out. “That it’s obvious to me you were cheating?”

“Nah, I think you know what I saw.” His tone is playful with a hint of menace, and as Lorenz shifts out of his space Sylvain follows. 

“So what you’re saying is that you _don't_ , actually, want me to kiss you right now. Is that it?” His voice gets a little soft around the edges. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for Lorenz to keep his eyes focused straight ahead onto the green surface of the table. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re shit at lying, you know that? You should play poker with me. Been a while since I won big. Except for tonight, of course.” Sylvain takes one finger and runs it down Lorenz’s hair, tucking the strands behind his ear and tilting his head, brown eyes twinkling. 

“You think I'm stupid enough to get caught counting cards by accident? Trust me, gorgeous, if I wanted to fleece this place I'd be a lot more subtle than I have been tonight.”

Lorenz darts a sharp glance over at Sylvain at the word “gorgeous,” and Sylvain just shrugs, like he can't help himself. Lorenz supposes he can’t.

“It is nice, though, to finally have your attention.” Sylvain's fingers idle with the lapel of Lorenz’s jacket, and Lorenz doesn’t stop him. If anything, he turns into the touch, pondering what his angle really is. He stifles the alarm bells ringing distantly in his perception.

“You want to go somewhere a little more private and talk about it?”

_No. Of course not._

The words that should be leaving his mouth somehow don’t, and Lorenz simply stands up straight, pulling his clothes out of Sylvain’s fingers, and turns to walk away. 

At Sylvain’s little sigh of defeat, Lorenz allows a catlike grin to creep across his lips, and he looks back over his shoulder. 

“Well? I thought you were a quick study.”

It’s fun, more fun than it should be to tease Sylvain; Lorenz knows he’s playing with fire but he simply cannot help himself. He thinks of Claude and his hang gliders; Leonie climbing sheer-faced cliffs; Lysithea and her knives; they all have their dangerous hobbies, it seems. Perhaps this is his. It’s addicting, the way Sylvain follows behind him, and Lorenz quickens his steps. There’s a shortcut behind the fountains that will take him where he wants to go, and he breathes in the cool, damp air with a sense of excitement.

Lorenz’s head crashes into the inside of the door as it slams shut. Sylvain is kissing him almost before he realizes it, and...Lorenz is kissing him back, needy and insistent. 

“That what you wanted?”

Lorenz glares at him but doesn’t move from the frame of his arms against the door. Glittering cufflinks glint in the corners of his vision. “That seemed like it was what _you_ wanted.”

“You are so full of shit, Lorenz.” Sylvain angles his head so his breath ghosts across Lorenz’s lips, and when Lorenz reaches up for him, Sylvain just laughs.

“See?” He moves to nip at Lorenz’s jaw and his mouth travels lower. 

“I think you know something." Lips tickle Lorenz’s neck, and he shivers. "Wanna tell me?”

“Well,” _good heavens that comes out far breathier than Lorenz would like_ , “I _know_ that _you_ know something.”

“I know lots of things.” Sylvain’s already pressing his body against Lorenz’s, grinding him into the door, and Lorenz’s response to this is going to get him in trouble. “I know how much you like this, for one.” The next kiss is slow, and lingering, and Lorenz ponders that though this is a tactic, it’s a damned well-executed one.

When he kisses back, Sylvain lets out a little eager noise, and if it’s an act, again, he’s a top-notch actor. Lorenz lets him enjoy it for a moment, and then pulls back.

“What shipment were you talking about?”

“Arcane crystal, of course.” Sylvain’s smirk is altogether too charming.

“Ah, looking to have the entire Eagle squadron on your trail?”

“I know you guys are looking to intercept it too. It’s priceless, and they can’t bring it in from Almyra without going through Alliance streets.”

Lorenz widens his eyes as though he’s talking to a child, and his tone drips with condescension. “Oh, lovely grasp on geography. Do give my compliments to Dedue.”

Sylvain grabs his chin. “You’re pretty, and this isn’t terrible, but I do have other ways of getting what I want.”

Slow and deliberate, holding Sylvain’s gaze, and then in a flash, Lorenz retrieves the knife from his pocket and holds it to the side of Sylvain’s neck. “Do you think I was born yesterday? Take your heavy-handed _Fhirdiad_ tactics and kindly leave.” Defiance glitters in his eyes, and Sylvain squeezes hard before letting go; Lorenz feels the points where his fingertips have pressed well after his hand drops.

Sylvain eyes Lorenz’s swollen lips. “Yeah; till next time, then.”

He backs off, however, and Hilda just rolls her eyes when Lorenz rejoins them in the VIP lounge. 

* * *

Lorenz relaxes into his gigantic bathtub with a glass of wine and a trashy novel; it’s been _ages_ since he’s been able to simply disengage, and he sighs happily. Rose-scented bubbles surround him, and the loose topknot of his hair slides down a bit to get some of it wet. He’s fine with that; the relaxation is well worth it. He stretches luxuriously and sinks in, up to his neck.

Lorenz breathes in the steam and breathes out, and when the haze clears he nearly jumps out of the water. Pity; the deep-maroon suit from the other night is gone, but the black shirt and tie highlight Gautier’s physique as much as the vest topping both. And he is _standing right there in the doorway._

Better to fake confidence than to panic. And he’s hardly going to scramble out of the bath naked, anyway. Lorenz flicks a leg out of the water, sending a spray of droplets onto Sylvain’s tailored shirt. Sylvain flinches, and scowls, then grins. He doesn’t stop his slow approach, and Lorenz can’t reach for his weapon without Sylvain seeing him in one of the many mirrors lining this room.

He pouts, betrayed by his own design choices. And they’d been so pretty when he’d picked them out.

He doesn’t know how Sylvain got past his security system, and he deeply regrets giving his long-trusted butler the weekend off. Lorenz doesn’t _think_ outright murder serves the plans of the Lions as they currently stand, but he can’t be sure. And a little casual torture is always on the table. Unfortunate as that may be for Lorenz at the moment.

The inevitable danger throbs in Lorenz’s pulse as he watches Sylvain unbutton his cuffs and roll up his sleeves. He braces, ready for contact, but instead of a threat, Sylvain reaches into the water and strokes fingers up Lorenz’s leg.

It shoots sparks through him, and he flexes his foot, but without pulling away. He’s momentarily grateful for the strategic placement of the bubbles.

“I’m here with a peace offering, Gloucester.” Sylvain trails his fingers through the water, leaning close to Lorenz without touching him again. 

Lorenz bites his lip, then lifts his chin. “Your terms, then?”

“My terms,” Sylvain cups his hand around Lorenz’s calf, “are compromise. Just this once. You and me.”

“That sounds incredibly false, but most things you say do.” Lorenz is incredibly conscious of the warmth of Sylvain’s touch, even in the heat of the bathwater. His fingers glide higher.

“Gesture of good faith.” The touch is lingering on Lorenz’s thigh now, and if the bubbles shift at all Sylvain will get more information on Lorenz than even Sylvain was bargaining for. Well. Perhaps not. It _is_ Sylvain. 

He leans closer, but doesn’t move his hand again. “I’ll tell you what day if you tell me where. And I’ll give you twenty percent if you help me intercept.”

Lorenz blinks. That _is_ useful information. They’ve gotten a location out of their spies in Black Eagle territory, but nothing so specific as a date. He schools his features, but it is just a hair too late.

“You _do_ know something, you tight-lipped bastard. Maybe there’s another way I can get it out of you.” Before Lorenz fully realizes what’s happened, Sylvain has bodily lifted him and is carrying him toward his bed, where Sylvain dumps him unceremoniously, watching him bounce as he’s dropped and heedless of the water stains on his clothing, which Lorenz admits to himself against his will _is_ particularly fine.

“I’m all _wet_ , Sylvain, this is hardly—”

“Yeah.” Lorenz's little diatribe is interrupted by Sylvain's broad remark accompanied by a heated gaze toward his groin, where a single bead of precome has started to bead up at the tip of his cock. “You are.” The self-satisfied grin makes a flush of frustration heat Lorenz’s cheeks.

Rather than fold himself up and hide away, Lorenz leans back, affecting a casual and bold mood he doesn't feel. 

“Perhaps I simply enjoy the bath very much. Perhaps it's got nothing to do with you at all." He shifts, angling his body in studied carelessness but flicking a gaze back at Sylvain, who is already unbuttoning his shirt. 

Lorenz laughs, caustic and rude. "Oh, you really _do_ have only one way to get what you want, don't you?"

Sylvain plants his palms on the bed, one on each side of Lorenz, and rakes his gaze over Lorenz's body. 

“Tell me to stop then.” He looms over Lorenz, eyes hungry, voice dark with lust. 

Just as he pushes off to move away, Lorenz grabs hold of his wrist and yanks him back. 

Sylvain tumbles on top of him, and Lorenz pulls Sylvain’s mouth down, hard. He shoves his fingers into thick, wavy hair, and flips them, enjoying the little surprised noise from Sylvain. He isn’t a bit surprised when Sylvain flips them back, and at some point Lorenz starts enjoying what’s happening more than he’s playing to win. He knows how dangerous that is, but the heat between them is irresistible. And, somewhere along the way, Sylvain’s clothing disappears, and Lorenz believes he has more than a little to do with that.

“Where.” Sylvain’s voice is muffled in Lorenz’s neck. 

Lorenz laughs again; it's a little wild with the frisson of pleasure rippling through him at that rich baritone rumbling through Sylvain’s chest. Sylvain nips, hard, at Lorenz’s neck. That’s high enough to leave a mark, but Lorenz doesn’t particularly care right now. 

“Ohh, right there, please, more.”

“That’s not what I _meant_ ; ugh, you’re such an asshole.”

“When?” Lorenz is as demanding as he can be while there are fingers delightfully probing at his entrance. He’s not sure when, exactly, Sylvain had rummaged through his bedside table; leave it to him to know exactly where to look. And exactly where to--Lorenz ’s sharp intake of breath lets Sylvain know he’s found what he’s looking for, and he smiles smugly.

“You tell me first.”

Lorenz just moans in response, but his fingers find Sylvain’s cock, and Sylvain seems a little impressed that Lorenz can stroke him while he’s being expertly fingered. Lorenz doesn’t want to admit that “expert” part to himself, but it’s true. Still, his own hand isn’t doing too poorly for itself, and it’s acknowledged by a low groan from above him.

“Such pretty fingers; they feel so good too. Hate to have to break them if we can’t get along.” Sylvain’s smile is nasty and sharp.

Lorenz pulls his head up and bites Sylvain’s neck; not a nip, not a graze, but sinking his teeth in hard. The yell from Sylvain might be ambiguous if his cock didn’t harden and twitch in Lorenz’s hand to give him away.

Lorenz quirks an eyebrow. “Hm, perhaps we are better matched than I thought. I might be willing to consider a partnership.” He guides Sylvain’s cock to replace his slick fingers. 

“Of sorts.” It’s breathy, as Sylvain breaches his rim, and Lorenz gasps and flings his head back. Sylvain is _not_ all talk, and he is currently proving it. He slides in and fills him in the most satisfying, electric way, and Sylvain isn’t even moving yet. 

“That’s it, baby.” The sweet talk pours from Sylvain. “All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.” He rolls his hips gently a few times before snapping them up; Lorenz makes an embarrassingly needy sound and arches into him.

Their rhythm varies, between agonizingly slow and brisk, and Lorenz has to admit, he’d be hard pressed to find a better lay in the Three Cities. He lets Sylvain grip behind his knees and press his legs back, opening him up and making a little cry escape him.

“Tell me where, Lorenz.” Sylvain is pounding into him at a brutal pace now, and Lorenz closes his eyes for a moment.

“Fuck, Sylvain, right, there.” The words gust sharp out of Lorenz’s lungs in time with Sylvain’s thrusts. 

“Goddamnit Gloucester, stop avoiding the fucking question." Sylvain groans and kisses him again and pulls all the air from his lungs. 

He stares down at Lorenz, breath coming fast. “And they call me the slut.”

Lorenz knows he’s absolutely debauched, moaning and writhing under Sylvain, sweaty and probably flushed bright pink. He opens his eyes to see Sylvain looking at him with a strange expression that almost looks tender, but then he feels strong fingers wrap around his length.

Sylvain kisses him again and pulls free with a gasp. “Come on, tell me.” He grins and catches his lower lip between his teeth. He’s looking at Lorenz expectantly, and Lorenz purposely takes that in precisely the wrong way.

With no sound other than a tight breath, Lorenz arches his back and comes, hard, making a mess over them both. It’s noisy and messy and undignified, and Lorenz has barely started to come down when Sylvain grunts and his fingertips press hard into Lorenz’s thighs. 

“Ugh, fuck, you have no business looking so good like that…” Sylvain trails off as his eyes slam shut and he pumps sharp and staccato into Lorenz. Three times, and Lorenz feels it fill him, warm and pulsing. He curls his fingers around the back of Sylvain’s neck, in a gesture that’s perhaps more affectionate than it should be, but he doesn’t care; everything is gauzy and drifting and mellow, and Lorenz feels himself smile, slowly.

Sylvain is still inside him, panting hot air into the curve of his neck, and he nips at Lorenz’s ear, wordlessly but with an air of frustration.

Lorenz lies back and catches his breath, looking up into amber-brown eyes as Sylvain looks down at him.

“Are you going to kill me for it?”

“Nah. Not worth the repercussions.” Sylvain flops down next to him, altogether too comfortable in someone else’s bed, but Lorenz supposes it _is_ Sylvain.

“I’d threaten to torture you for it, but you’d probably like it, you easy fucker.” Sylvain laughs, breathless, and Lorenz swats him with a pillow.

Sylvain stops by his apartment building’s front desk to get his mail, and the receptionist has a little note for him with a grin and a wink. It’s stationery with a golden stag on it, with a note in a flowing script that simply says “until next time, then.” Folded inside the paper is a matchbook from Pier 39, a new restaurant down by the docks. 

Sylvain grins and grips it in his fist before heading upstairs. 

From the back of a sleek black sedan, Lorenz looks at his phone and smiles. He pulls his collar up a bit, away from Hilda’s prying eyes, and tucks the phone away in his jacket. The thirtieth can’t come soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same universe as Crossroads, but takes place sometime before, so I put them in a series instead of making it a chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
